“It can’t go on forever,” said Dawn.
The phone rang, and they both dived for it. Mary Anne grabbed it first. “Hello?” she gasped. “Kristy?”
Dawn leaned over and put her ear next to the receiver so she could hear, too.
“No, it’s me, Stacey,” said the voice on the other end. “I’m just calling to see how you guys are doing. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
“Not a thing,” Mary Anne said. “We’re going nuts.”
“So am I,” said Stacey. “And Claud is, too. She’s still over at the Newtons’, and right now she’s doing what she mentioned to Dawn — calling the hospitals to see if — well, just to check.”
Mary Anne’s eyes grew wide. She knew Stacey had almost said “to see if there’s been an accident,” and that was something she didn’t even want to think about. She was speechless for a second.
Dawn grabbed the phone. “Stace, it’s me,” she said. “Let us know if Claud finds anything out,” she said. “We’ll be here, waiting.”
“Okay,” said Stacey. “I’d better go now. We want to keep the phone lines open, right?”
Dawn hung up and looked at Mary Anne. “Are you okay?” she asked gently. Mary Anne looked as if she were in shock.
“Yes,” said Mary Anne. “I just hope they are.”
Dawn didn’t have to ask who Mary Anne meant by they. “Me, too,” she said. She crossed her fingers. Then, just for insurance, she crossed her toes, too. Then she closed her eyes and wished — hard — that the next phone call would be good news.
Now it was Mary Anne’s turn to pace. She walked around the sofa and then around the coffee table, making a figure-eight design. Each time she passed the phone, she gave it a Look. Dawn figured that Mary Anne had probably crossed her fingers and toes, too.
“Maybe we should call Watson,” said Dawn after awhile. “You know, just to make sure he doesn’t have any news.” She reached for the phone.
Mary Anne stopped her pacing and took the phone from Dawn, gently but firmly. “I’m sure Watson and Kristy’s mom are sitting by their phone, waiting for it to ring. We don’t want to get their hopes up, do we?”
Dawn let go of the phone and Mary Anne hung it up. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted. Mary Anne began pacing again, and Dawn sat biting her nails.
The phone rang. “That must be Kristy!” said Mary Anne. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she said. She listened for a second. “Oh, hi,” she went on, sounding very disappointed. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s Claudia,” she told Dawn.
“Did she find anything out by calling the hospitals?” asked Dawn.
Mary Anne passed the question on. “Nope,” she said after she’d listened to Claud for a minute. “Nothing. Anyway, she wants to know if we want to come over and spend the night. Stacey’s going, and Claud’s also going to call Mallory and Jessi.”
“Sure,” Dawn said. “We may as well be together, since there’s nothing else we can do.”
* * *
About an hour later, the members of the BSC — with the major exception of yours truly — gathered in Claud’s room. Claud had microwaved some popcorn, and she passed it around while everyone talked. They shared stories of where they’d been when they found out that the van was missing. Then they talked about the phone calls that had been made back and forth. They discussed every theory they could think of to explain what had happened to a van full of kids. And they listened to the storm, which was still going on outside.
Nobody got much rest. They spread sleeping bags on Claud’s floor and lay down, but they were too tense to sleep. They talked as they waited for the phone to ring. No calls came, though, so they just kept on talking. Finally, though, the room was quiet for awhile. And during that silence, Dawn noticed something. The thunder wasn’t booming anymore, and the rain wasn’t pounding on the roof. She checked Claud’s clock. It was two-thirty A.M. The storm had finally stopped.
When morning came, the sun was shining brightly. “I feel better already,” said Dawn, stretching. “I bet we’ll hear from Kristy any minute, now that the storm is over.”
But the phone didn’t ring.
Finally, Mary Anne had had enough waiting. “I’m going to call Kristy’s house,” she said. And she did, but there was no news. The Krashers and I were still stranded. Mary Anne hung up, looking upset. Then she took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I know,” she said. “Let’s all write something in the club notebook, so that when Kristy comes back she’ll know how much we missed her.” Mary Anne pulled out the notebook and passed it around. This is what everyone wrote:
“Kristy, wake up! Wake up! It’s sunny outside. The storm is over!” Karen was tugging on my right arm, which was hanging off the side of the chair I’d fallen asleep in.
“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” I said, yawning and stretching. I opened my eyes and looked out the big window. Karen was right. The sky was bright blue, with puffy white clouds. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Not a storm cloud in the sky. “All right,” I said. Not only had we made it through the night, but now it looked as if we might be able to make our way home soon.
“Guess what?” asked Jackie, tugging on my other arm. “The electricity came back on.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said proudly. “I went around and turned on all the lights, just to see.”
“Jackie,” I said, “thanks for checking that out. But I think we’re wasting power if we leave the lights on, now that it’s bright and sunny outside.” I smiled at him. “Think you could go back and turn them off?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Joey and Chris will help me.”
I realized that just about everyone but me had been awake for awhile. I looked around to see if Bart was up, and noticed that the chair he’d been sleeping in was empty. I had been hoping I’d be up before he was, so I could at least scrub my face and try to comb the biggest tangles out of my hair before he laid eyes on me. I don’t usually pay lots of attention to my looks, but Charlie and Sam have made sure to let me know that I’m no beauty queen first thing in the morning. I didn’t want to scare Bart off.
I stood up and stretched. My body felt stiff and full of kinks, which I decided was normal for someone who has slept in a chair. I tiptoed to the hall, checked one way and then the other, and made a dash for the bathroom, hoping I wouldn’t run into Bart on the way. But when I reached the bathroom door, it was closed. Somebody had beat me to it. I waited outside the door, still watching for Bart. Finally, the door swung open, and guess who walked out? Bart himself.
“Morning, Kristy,” he said with a smile.
“G’ morning,” I mumbled. I rushed into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Then I checked myself in the mirror. I didn’t look bad after all, except for the fact that I was now blushing bright red. I felt silly. I could have been nicer to Bart; at least I could have smiled back at him.
Once I’d scrubbed my face, I headed for the kitchen. I figured everyone would be gathered there, looking for food. We didn’t have much left over, but I for one was so hungry that a slice of apple and a piece of stale bread sounded delicious. “Morning, everybody,” I said as I entered the room. Just as I’d guessed, all eight kids, plus Bart and Charlie, were seated around the table. Bart was passing out food.
“Hi, Kristy!” said David Michael. “Look what I got!” He held up a crumpled leather object.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a batting glove,” he said. “I traded Joey for it.”
“What did you get, Joey?” I turned to look at him. Sometimes these “trading sessions” spell disaster. Kids trade away expensive things for junk, and then their parents get mad.
“These cool wristbands!” Joey said, holding up a grubby pair of terry-cloth wristbands decorated with the Mets logo.
“Great trade,” I said, relieved. At least David Michael hadn’t given away his best pair of sneakers or something. “So,” I sa
id, taking a slice of apple and turning to Bart and Charlie. “What’s the plan this morning?”
“Well, since the electricity’s on, we’re hoping we might be able to find a phone that works,” said Charlie. “And when I went outside a little while ago, I heard machinery — so I think they’ve already started to fix the bridges.”
I stepped to the window and looked out. There was the van, and there was the caretaker’s cottage — and there was the caretaker, himself. He was striding up the driveway toward the big house. “Charlie!” I hissed. “The caretaker’s about to knock at the front door!”
Charlie stood up and peered over my shoulder, but the caretaker was already out of sight. Then I heard a knock, just as I’d predicted. Charlie headed for the door, and I was right behind him.
Charlie pulled the big door open. There, on the front step, was the old man. Somehow, in the morning light, he didn’t look scary at all. In fact, I had the sudden thought that he looked kind of sad.
“Are the bridges repaired yet?” asked Charlie, without even saying good morning.
“They’re working on them,” said the caretaker with a smile. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Good morning,” I said, trying to make up for Charlie’s lack of manners. But I had an urgent question of my own, so I didn’t even wait for the man to respond. Instead, I jumped right in. “Are the phones working?”
“Well, they probably are,” said the man. “But it doesn’t make much difference. You won’t be able to get to a phone until the bridges are fixed.”
“Oh, right,” I said glumly. “I forgot about that.”
“Did you all sleep well?” asked the man, giving Charlie a curious look. I suddenly remembered his strange words as we’d left the cottage the night before. Had they been some kind of warning? Did he know about the Sawyer Road ghost? Had we been in some kind of danger? I looked at the man suspiciously, but Charlie seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary.
“Oh, sure,” he said. “We slept fine. We really appreciate your help.”
“It was nothing,” said the man. “Now, can I help you pack up? You’ll probably be able to drive that van out of here fairly soon.” Once again, I felt suspicious. Was he trying to get us out of there for some reason?
“Please, come on in,” said Charlie. “Kristy, why don’t you organize the kids, and I’ll round up the blankets and flashlights and things?”
We went into the kitchen. I rounded up the kids and suggested that they gather up their stuff so we could leave as soon as the bridges were fixed. They ran into the living room, and Charlie and I followed them. Bart stayed in the kitchen with the old man.
The living room was full of activity for awhile, as Charlie picked up the blankets and grabbed a team of kids to help him fold them. The other kids were running around scooping up socks and shoes and making sure that they hadn’t forgotten anything. Then, I felt someone tugging on my sweat shirt. It was Buddy.
“Kristy?” he said. “You know that man who came in?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “That’s the caretaker.”
“Well,” said Buddy. “I finally figured out who Will Blackburn looks like. You know, Dorothy’s fiancé?”
“Hmm?” I said. I was distracted by Karen, who was wailing that she couldn’t find her charm bracelet.
“He looks like that man. Like the caretaker,” said Buddy.
“What?” I asked. “What are you saying?” Suddenly Buddy had my full attention.
“The caretaker. He looks like Will. Or Will looks like him, I guess,” said Buddy.
I pictured Will. Buddy was right! “You know,” I said to Buddy. “I think you’ve got something there.” All of a sudden I knew, just knew that the caretaker and Will were one and the same person. “Charlie,” I said. “Can you help them finish up in here?” I had some detective work to do. I headed back to the kitchen and found Bart and the old man talking about fishing.
“Um, excuse me,” I said. “Mr. Blackburn?” I watched the man’s face.
“How did you know my name?” he asked.
“Just a hunch,” I said. “We found some newspaper articles —”
“Oh, so you think you know the whole story, do you?” Mr. Blackburn said suddenly, sounding fierce. “Well, there’s more to it than you can read in the paper.”
“There is?” I said, leaning toward him. “Can you tell us?”
“It’s a sad tale,” he said. “About a man who lost the love of his life and never got over it. That man is me. After Dorothy disappeared, I — I — well, I just never really recovered. I bought this house, and I kept it the way it was when Dot — that’s what I called her — lived here. I don’t know why, except that somehow it’s a comfort to me. But I can’t bear to live here, amidst all these memories.” He gestured, as if to include the whole house. “That’s why I live down in the cottage.”
Wow. Once he started talking, he had a lot to say! “What about the haunting?” I asked, and held my breath.
“Haunting?” He snorted. “There is no haunting. Those stories are just tales made up by ignorant people looking for amusement.”
“But the lights?” I asked. “And the smoke from the chimney?”
“All my doing,” he said. “After all, to keep the house this nice, I have to spend some time in here. I don’t mean to make the place look haunted, but people believe what they want to believe.”
By this time, the kids had returned to the kitchen, and they’d caught on immediately. “But what about the ghosts, Mr. Blackburn?” asked Jackie.
“There are no ghosts,” said Mr. Blackburn firmly. “Not in this house, not anywhere. Ghosts are merely figments of the imagination.”
Jackie looked disappointed.
“Well, I’ll be back down at the cottage if you need anything,” said Mr. Blackburn, standing up abruptly. Then he smiled at us. “And, by the way, I’d be honored if you’d call me Will.” He was out the door before anyone could say anything else.
“Wow!” said Bart. “That’s quite a story.”
“Sure is,” I replied. I turned to Jackie. “Now you can go home and tell Shea that there’s no Sawyer Road ghost after all. There was a mystery here, but I think we’ve solved it. It makes a good story, anyway, right?”
Jackie nodded. But he still looked disappointed. I guess he had really been hoping for ghosts.
“There!” said Charlie, dusting off his hands. “I think that’s everything.” He stood back from the van and nodded. “All packed up and ready to go. Now we just need word that the bridges are fixed.”
After Will Blackburn had left, we’d spent about an hour packing up our stuff, tidying the house — in general, making sure we’d be ready to leave the second we heard that we could. I was so eager to get to a phone that I could hardly stand it. I knew that my family and friends — not to mention the families and friends of the Krashers — would be frantic now that morning had come and we were still missing. Missing, without a trace!
If I’d been able to call someone, I might have enjoyed our adventure more. I mean, there we were, spending the night in a supposedly haunted house. We’d uncovered an amazing, tragic story about the people who had lived there. And then we’d actually met one of the characters in the story! I knew my friends would be incredibly envious of the experience. Especially Dawn, since there’s nothing she loves more than a good ghost story.
But I hadn’t enjoyed my adventure, since I was all too aware of the many worried people back in Stoneybrook. And now I had pretty much put the Sawyer mystery behind me. I was just looking forward to being home. Anyway, Will had made it clear that the ghost part of the story was nothing but a story, so no mystery was left anyway.
Once we’d packed the van, there was nothing else to do. The kids became restless. “When do we get to go home?” whined Karen. Joey and Jerry started to squabble with each other over who should get to play third base in the next Krashers game. David Michael wandered over to the front step, sat down, and put
his chin in his hands. He looked bored.
“I think these kids need something to do,” Bart whispered to me.
“No joke,” I said. “But what can we do around here?”
“See that meadow?” Bart pointed to the left side of the house, where I could see a small meadow filled with wildflowers. “Looks like there’s plenty of room there for a ball field. How about it?”
“Great idea!” I said. “We’ve got all our equipment and everything. But we only have eleven people. How can we play a real game?”
“We can’t,” said Bart. “But I can hit a lot of balls for fielding practice, and I know a few fun drills we can try, too.”
We called the kids over to the van. “How about some softball?” I asked. “Just for fun.”
“Yay!” they shouted. We opened the doors of the van, and they jumped in, rummaged around, and came out with mitts, balls, and bats. In five minutes, practice was in full swing.
We had a great time. Bart was in a silly mood, and he hit all kinds of funny balls to the kids: high, high pop-ups, bouncing ground balls, stuff like that. Later, we disguised base-running drills as relay races. The kids loved that. Charlie did, too, and even showed some of the kids how to play “pepper,” which is a practice game in which three people alternate batting and catching.
“Whoa!” I heard Charlie call out, as a ball sailed over his head.
“Got it!” I heard someone else say, but I didn’t recognize the voice. I turned and saw Will Blackburn dashing across the field. He was pretty quick, for an old guy. He caught the ball bare-handed and held it up, smiling. We gave him a round of applause.
He walked to where Bart and I were standing, and Charlie jogged over, too. Will was panting a little, but he seemed proud of himself for catching the ball. “Guess I still have a little of the center fielder in me,” he said. “Used to play for the local team. Forty years ago, that is!”
“Great catch,” said Charlie.
“Thanks,” said Will. “But I didn’t come over here to join your game. I came to let you know that the first bridge is ready for traffic. You can leave any time.”